


Speak No Evil

by missmuffet



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Child Murder, F/M, Family Secrets, Gen, Jensen's Niece is Actually His Daughter, Minor Canonical Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmuffet/pseuds/missmuffet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In hindsight, it made him just as sick to think about how plain and normal that night was for the rest of the world."</p><p>----</p><p>People die every day, every hour and every minute. Jensen was a fool to think it couldn't happen to them, or that it would matter to the rest of the world in the long run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak No Evil

It was never simple for them. It was never **just** a matter of guard duty or looking over your shoulder as you went along. It was fritzing out the cameras of government run check points, hoping that EZ Pass never picked up on the fact that the chuck of white plastic in the front of the dirtied bright yellow stretch Hummer was stolen, much as the car itself was. It was hoping that no one noticed they jacked plates off a scrape yard heat to cover the fact that the Hummer was the only ‘good’ thing that had happened to them since the Port of Los Angeles, as well as the putt-putt (also yellow) ‘74 Ford Pinto that trailed behind it. Things were never easy because Jensen could simply never let things go.     
  
He couldn’t just stay home, in plain sight of a town that would make the Stamford Wives get jealous, but he couldn’t just up and leave without one last look. Hell, it was never one last look. It was his baby, his bright eyed angel on earth that never failed to remind him of what he hoped were two true angels, balanced precariously on the clouds. The addiction he could never quite given up but had no right to partake in. No fretting over making birthdays perfect, no squeals of gratitude on Christmas morning. **Nothing**. And that was what made it worse. Nothing was what ended him up right here, separated from the group and pulled off on the side of a dirt road in New England months after Max had made things go from bad to worse. Months after what would probably be his last soccer game he could bear witness to, months after -     
  
\- after …     
  
Years and years after a perfect little home, loud and thrumming with laughter or music that the two of them had never quite gotten over. Years and years after buying that ticky-tacky, cookie cutter home was insured for three and soon to be four. Years and years after Jensen had kicked himself over losing his cell phone in a river, keeping him from calling in and saying that he would be later than he expected getting out of customs and debriefing, but he remembered. He remembered all too well.    It was an ordinary night, clear and bright when Jensen found their front door open. In hindsight, it made him just as sick to think about how plain and normal that night was for the rest of the world.  
  
No telling thunderstorm or the winds and rains of chain to warn him that he’d come home to find his toddler face down in the carpet, his pudgy, ticklish belly slashed wide open to allow for a warm pool of blood to gather at in a rough line where Anthony had tried to crawl away. Nothing obscure to warn the neighbors that if someone had gotten there sooner to call an ambulance, there was a chance that she and the baby growing inside her - _(‘Go on and put your hand here, munchkin. You feel that? That’s your sister trying to hug you.’)_ \- might have been saved that night. It was cold, and Jensen should have none better because the moment he pushed that door open, it was quiet.     
  
Their home was never quiet until that night. Neither was Jensen. Whatever it took, even the slightest noise, whether it would get him killed or not (ask Cougar; it nearly had), the former Captain could hardly keep his mouth shut to make up for the silence. It ate away at him, dragged his mind back to a cemetery he couldn’t visit without the whole town gossiping about it the next day. Without so much as a cricket chirping from where Jensen had pulled off of the interstate moments ago, he couldn’t tell himself that it wasn’t real again. Choking out a gasp for air as that familiar panic overtook him, the man tried once again to push something - anything out in order to distract himself. A whisper, or more likely a scream. Throat burning, he couldn’t even manage to whimper without pain edging down his to his esophagus.  
  
  So he Jensen drowned in his nightmares, in the cool air of New England’s sparse country side, with nothing more than the hood of the banged up Ford Pinto he sat on to hold him up.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone pays any attention to the subtext surrounding Jensen and his "niece" in the movie, then later his less than cheery reaction to the birth of Pooch's son, it should be fairly obvious that a) that little girl is actually his daughter and b) there's something upsetting for him about birth. Eventually, I'll write a more detailed fic along that premise, but for now, this was the result of a prompt for my Jensen RP tumblr that can be found:
> 
> http://smartasscanhack.tumblr.com/post/41555519418/m-a-speak-no-evil-four-hours


End file.
